Starsk
by Starsky's Strut
Summary: First person Hutch POV from part 2 of ‘The Plague’ episode.


All usual disclaimers apply, I don't own the rights, I don't get money, and this is for entertainment only. Please excuse any errors; they are entirely mine.

Doris, June, Paul, Sigmund, Linda and Kirby, this one is lovingly dedicated to your memories.

Special thanks to Kreek, Pony and Elisa - you guys _never_ forgot me and haven't given up on me. (((BIG HUGS)))

I am working on "West" and "Demons & Angels" (with Kreek). I have no idea when they will be done. Sorry.  
I will finish them though. I promise.

First person Hutch POV from 'The Plague' episode, some of the dialogue is from the episodes. I'm not claiming it as mine.

**Starsk****  
**By Starsky's Strut

Dying is a lonely business. You are born alone, you die alone. It is the nature of life. An undisputable truth. You can be surrounded by friends and loved ones. Or strangers, or all by yourself somewhere.

Expected or unexpected.

It simply doesn't matter, you are all alone when you die. It makes no difference if someone is there holding your hand or not.

It's you and not them that's dying.

My thoughts are interrupted by my gasping miserably for oxygen. I'm too sick to do anything more strenuous than think. My lungs are slowly filling with fluids, my air way is gradually constricting with inflammation. My liver and kidneys are under attack as well as other organs. Hell, so much for me managing to live to be 148 years old, like I told Starsky those people in Azerbaijan in Russia do.

Okay, this is depressing me and it's not helping. Gotta think of something else to think about… or someone else.

Starsk

There's no other person in this world I love and trust more. How can I describe him? My partner's a strange mix of contrasting characteristics. He's bright, funny, intense, neat, serious, childish – I don't mean that in a negative way though, most of the time. He's impatient, snide and observant. He's a pessimistic optimist, or is he an optimistic pessimist?

Anyway, Starsk is also one hell of a driver –talent coming out of his ears -but I'll never tell him that. I might not live long enough to. I swallow a lump that forms in my throat, not that there's a lot of room for one. Trying to get a lung full of air by it gives me a coughing, gagging fit that lasts until I black out from the lack of oxygen.

XXXX

When I reawaken, the lump is gone, but breathing isn't any easier. In fact, it might be even a little more difficult now. There are so many things I want to say to my partner… so many things I meant to say. Time grows short, as does my life. It's not years, nor is it weeks, it's down to maybe a day, or perhaps mere hours from now. I'm so out of it, it's hard to tell.

Earlier, I promised Starsk I'd live for a 148 years. I looked him right in the eyes and promised. I've never broken my word to him before. I'd hate to break it now, but those miserable little suckers that're killing me are going to make me. Dammit!

I know Starsky is out there, trying to find Callendar. We've been in real fixes before. Hell our career seems to be made up of one long tight spot or another that seems to happen on a weekly basis, which is really weird, if you think about it. Anyway, I know he can't be with me, even though he wants to be. He's my one slim chance.

Very slim. Anoxic really. A forlorn, transparent hope held together by nothing more than my partner's determination.

Before he left, he gave me this look… Starsk can say more with his eyes than anyone else in the world. Damn, that stupid lump is trying to form in my marginal throat again. Gotta think of something else because getting choked unconscious by a lumpy throat no fun.

Judith. That works… while I'm not as good as Starsky, I'm no slouch in the 'speaking eyes' department. I worked on Judith with them earlier. It's so sad, she can only get 'close' to me with a window between us. I need her as much as I need Starsky, but for different reasons.

I think she's brilliant and cute, I'd love to date her –if I live long enough. I also know if Starsky can find Callendar in time, she can work some magic with science and save my life. Sadly, time is one thing that I don't have much of. That and breath. It's harder to breathe now and I can't find a position that lets me catch it for long.

Soon they'll bring in the oxygen tent to help me. When that happens, I know I'm a gonner for sure. All of us in isolation fear it. It's the kiss of death, because every single person that has been put in that thing has died.

I remember that morning… was it just this morning? Seems longer than that. It's getting so hard to keep my thoughts straight. Well whenever it was, I woke up sick. Sicker than I've ever been before and I'm not exaggerating when I say that.

Well the first thing I saw on the hallway viewing window – in huge, bright red letters is the word-

**STARSK**

My partner was here some time while I was sleeping and left me a note. It's only six letters long, but it contains several messages.

It's a visual sign that he is here, if only in spirit. That he is fighting for me, for us.

A plea to not give up.

A demand to hang on while he searches for Callendar.

It's a visible -- if insubstantial- hand for me to hold.

It's also a shared joke - I get it and snicker- And there's that _damned_lump again.

Yeah, it's corny to think all that, but you know what? It's working. Any time the shivering gets to be too much, or breathing too difficult, I just look over and see those letters and remember why I'm struggling, why I hang on when letting go would be so much easier and far less painful.

XXXX

After Judith nearly drained me of all my blood for her tests, my stupid partner goes and _risks his life_ to come in, hold my hand and give me this goofy little Captain Marvel encouragement speech. I know I'm breaking his heart when I tell him it wasn't gonna work. I hate to do it, but dammit, sometimes he refuses to see the reality of a situation. It doesn't matter, I can see he's lying. To me, to himself. I tell him he can't lie, "'cept when he's undercover." He knows it, I know it.

The truth hurts. God, the look in his eyes…

I feel like I just kicked a puppy.

A mask covers his mouth and nose. But those damn deep blues -those '_speaking eyes'_- peer down at me, his brows wrinkling. Concern flowing like water despite the fact that half of his face is hidden from me.

I see –hell- _feel _the intense pain in those eyes at my harsh words. I feel his agony and from what I can tell, he's feeling mine too. I don't want that. There's that 'kicking a puppy' sensation again.

Suddenly it's like a vice has me in its grasp –and someone' s spinning the crank- tightening it hard and fast. I can't catch my breath, hot/cold of fever rages, pain bursts upon me and won't let go. Something I can't even see is killing me. I fight it, but a groan breaks free and Starsky's eyebrows knit in worry, eyes filling with shared hurt –hurt _for_ me and _because_ of me- compassion –love- so intense, powerful and incandescent, I have to look away.

Starsk whispers, "what can I for do for you?"

I don't have the strength to send him away. I'm endangering him, he shouldn't touch me. This plague could kill him… these evil little buggers… could take him way. The world needs people like Starsky. But I'm weak and beg him. _"Take care of that little sucker that was twisting my chest into a knot." _

I grab for him, Starsk takes my hands and takes the pain away, just like that, it's gone. It drains off like water down a hill. I draw the first easy breath that I've had in hours. Then another and another. God, for a few moments I remember that breathing is supposed to be easy, that it's not supposed to hurt, or take all my energy just to do.

I look at Starsky, relieved I can _breathe_ again. The pain has receded. He's done it.

He surprises me like that all the time --doing things that logic screams at me _can't_ be done. You'd think after all this time of me knowing him -that I would _know_ that by now- but somehow, I keep forgetting.

Knowledge that I'm a danger to him – the virus in me is a danger- fills me. It's time for him to leave. Anger and frustration clouds my face at my helplessness. I need him gone. "Now get outta here, will ya?"

Starsky clearly doesn't want to. "What's the rush? Tired of lookin' at my pretty face?"

I needed him to go, now. It's too late for me, I'm sure of it. Others can benefit from a cure though, if Starsky can find Callendar. Starsk will find him, he's just gotta be properly motivated. I cut to the chase and firm up my voice. "No more fun and games, huh? This ain't no fun, and the game is… Hutch is dying. So you get out there, roam the streets, check the sewers, hop in the holes-" Another intense wave of pain washes over me at that moment and I gasp involuntarily. "Oh god, it hurts."

Starsky's hands grip mine -hard. Those eyes of his burn into me once more and like moments before, he siphons the pain away, pulling into himself. I know he'll keep at it until I used him all up.

I won't do that. Not to him, I didn't want him to suffer. And he _is_ suffering and will continue to do so, as long as he stays here. I just can't do that to him. I won't. It's time for him to leave. I can't live knowing I'm hurting him. A snide, negative inner voice carps that I won't live regardless of what happens.

Starsk keeps looking at me. Reading me. I nod to him, and give a little head tilt to the door, telling him. "Get". My hands won't let go of his when I want them to. Willfully they hang on for a few more seconds. Stubborn things.

Starsky must have figured that what I'd said might be my dying wish. He nods back at me, slowly releases my hands and rushes from the room, the picture of determination. Without him to help drain the pain away, I lose consciousness.

XXXX

The next time I wake up, I look over at the window to use Starsky's **STARSK** message for strength, like I've done before, but it not there.

I keep staring at the window, thinking that maybe my eyes aren't working right. Slowly it dawns on me that they are gone. Erased. I started struggling for air and a mask is put on my face. It helps, but those big red letters would have done more good.

I think I see Captain Dobey with some flowers, he looks sad. He smiles and raises them up. I wave, I think. But it might be a delirious dream.

Getting too hard to tell… too hard to think… Getting too hard to breathe…

XXXX

I come to and find the dreaded oxygen tent is surrounding me. Did you know Death's shroud is made of plastic? Well, it is.

Ghostly shades in pale yellow move around, some touch me, most don't. When they touch, there is some coolness, but it never stays. The shades tease me with it. I hear strange raspy sounds, wheezes and moans. Is that me? I sound awful.

Gasping for breath. Pain. Hot. Cold.

So this is what it's like to die.

There's just never enough air any more. I remember this part, I think. I'm trapped under my car… am I still trapped? So hot, so cold so much pain. Yeah, I've been here before… or maybe I'm still here… there?

Confused, I'm so confused. I seem to recall Starsky leaving me a note. I look around, but everything is distorted, melting, I don't see it.

He's gone. I'm all alone.

I think I want to die.

Now would be good.

Or now.

Dying is a lonely thing.

XXXX

I think I see my partner, though the plastic death shroud, through distorted glass. Hard to see. It's getting dark, cold.

Here's that white light I've heard about, but it's not 'friendly' or comforting at all. It kind of hurts and there's a faint, annoying buzzing noise with it. No one is waiting for me. I was sure grandfather would be there. Or Gillian. Nope. Just the shades I noticed earlier. But they don't seem to come near anymore.

I'm alone.

Death… why is it taking so long?

XXXX

Through the pain/hot/cold, I think I hear Starsky's voice. It's soft, muffled, distant. Miles away.

"_Hang on, Hutch. Just hang on babe, Callendar's on his way. We're gonna get the serum. Just… hang on Hutch!"_

So I hang on.

It's like seeing a red light. It's an automatic thing. Red light stop. Partner says hang on, I hang on.

XXXX

A sensation tugs at my consciousness. I'm warm. Warm all over. Not hot or cold. No shivers or pain racks me. Breathing no longer hurts. That's a relief. Rather sad though, because it means I must be dead. Right?

Strange. My right hand is warmer than my left. Not hot. Just… warmer. I move it to find out why it's different.

"Shazam! Hey, look everyone! Captain Marvel's back!"

My warmer hand gets a squeeze. I'm still plenty achy, I don't protest as sounds wash over me. I think I hear Starsky, Huggy, Dobey, Judith and a few others talking. It's garbled and I can't make out words. It doesn't matter what they're saying. I don't feel a hundred percent, but I'm pretty sure I'm not dying. That's a relief.

Coffee smelling breath wafts past my nose. "Rest now."

Starsk

Somehow he's done the impossible again and saved my life. I smile, and as I slide off to sleep I think death may be a lonely thing, but I'm not alone anymore. I squeeze my warmer hand and get a firm grip answering back. Life is not a lonely thing for me, not with Starsky as my partner.

But I'm still not gonna tell him he's a good driver.

**The End **


End file.
